Here’s chapter 6 of the new book, “Dangerous Roommate.” Enjoy reading. Let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comment section below.
He sure was interested. That surprised Stefan, honestly. He didn’t expect he would get Frank’s yes faster than you could unzip your jacket. Although he finally had the target in his hands, he thought the idea of suddenly cohabiting with someone was definitely not part of his plan.
Well, for thirty days. It won’t be too long. He thought having him close would be better to keep things under his control. And the closer he could get to Frank, the easier he could gain the intelligence he needed for the mission. Besides, if he were to steal the world’s most expensive sculpture, why not collaborate with its creator?
After all, it was already too late to back out for having such a stupid idea, there was no way he could get out of it. Frank was there, carrying his entire life in boxes and luggage. He couldn’t simply remove the man from his property, let alone forget this night had happened.
“I hope you will like it here.” Stefan stuttered while watching Frank’s eyes wandering from every corner of his space. For some reason, he found it odd to find himself unusually at ease with him. It was as if his presence made him feel suddenly at home. Since he had felt it for the first time, he found himself drawn to the man. And it didn’t make sense to him. Why?
Frank nodded and hummed in answer while eyeing him. “You’re right. It’s quite a big space for one person,” he said, pressing his lips while letting his eyes meander, skimming over his things, from the ceiling to the flooring. Nothing was missed.
Unlike his old home, Stefan preferred living in a cabin far away from the city with a bigger space. Fortunately, buses drove here to San Carlos without problems, though it would be an hour’s drive.
As he guessed, it could have at least a hundred fifty-square meters wide and at least two meters high. It only had two stories and had a lot of windows with earth-toned heavy curtains draping almost every corner surrounding them. A few of them were left open, revealing the French windows featuring the dusk, and some were closed—keeping their privacy.
Gigantic timbers stacked on top of each other. Wooden slabs were used to finish the walls. It had a fireplace with a hundred-inch smart TV hanging above it. In his living area, he had an L-shaped teal and velvety couch paired with a restored old wooden box as a coffee table and soft pillows with vibrant colors lying around. A seventies-style lampshade stood near—enough to provide the lighting for resting or reading. Above them was a chandelier hanging, brightening most of the space.
He assumed all the rooms were upstairs based on how wide the ground floor was. Unlike his old apartment, he didn’t see any concrete blocking the entire view. From where he stood, he could directly see the kitchen, from his pantry to his island counter. When he walked into the generous kitchen, with its granite serving bar opening into a casual living room. He admired the stainless steel double ovens, the cherry cabinets, the six-burner range, and the grill combo under the shining stainless hood. It looked as though it was frequently used. So unlikely for a single man. He could cook something up, he thought, and had no doubt he could.
On the other side, he could see another wide but empty space. He thought this was the space Stefan meant when he said he had.
After minutes of interior skimming, Frank thought he would have never expected such pieces standing around, given he couldn’t see any sign of this man having an artistic taste. Stefan appeared too rigid and flat to be creative. Yet, with all these subtle, discreet, and creative displays of art he saw, how full and colorful his kitchen was, he thought it would also make sense why he would have any interest in sponsoring the event.
As he assumed, Stefan, who happened to have an understanding of art and culinary, looked like he was from a wealthy family. From his choice of clothes, his black Tesla, the way he walked, the way he spoke, the way he smelled, and the way he handled his issues, Frank assumed he wouldn’t have been offered such a place if this man weren’t able to afford this kind of property. He thought he would have to work overtime for the next twenty years, if not until his retirement, to own one.
Despite his reluctance, Frank couldn’t help but feel grateful. Even though he had never believed in God or almost never prayed in his life, he thought he would never receive such a miracle. Knowing he had nowhere to go, he would have never expected such a blessing, let alone receive it from a stranger.
Not only did Stefan help him organize the move for him—so he wouldn’t have to bring all the stuff he had—but he also had no qualms about showing generosity beyond what he could imagine from someone. For him, having at least a quarter of the space was enough. But Stefan had something else in mind. With the unexpected comfort, Frank was at a loss for words and couldn’t help but smile. It was a warm, kind smile. “Thank you.”
For a second, Stefan blushed as though the two simple words were enough to clench his heart. He didn’t expect that. He didn’t expect he would like Frank’s smile. It had done things to him, something positive, something soulful. But as soon as they were gone, he was quick to feel sorry, wondering when he could see them again.
He thought Frank was nothing but a boring, average man. Yet, his presence and the soft, melodramatic sound of his voice left him wondering, somehow amused, igniting a spark of curiosity inside his being. Despite having worked in the arts, he had never worked exclusively with one artist. Especially this close. Even when he had chances, there had always been some kind of middlemen or other parties working with him.
Though Frank barely said a word since they left San Carlos, he felt the discreet yet imposing energy from him. Was this how artists usually behave? Was this how creative people’s vibe had always felt? Or was it just because Frank was that charming and magnetic?
“You’re welcome.” Those were the only words he managed to pull off without embarrassing himself. And it didn’t take long for him to move his attention to the clutter to ease. He bit his lower lip as he planted both hands on the carton near him. “How about your things?”
“Where should I bring them?”
Stefan beckoned skyward. “Well, my bedroom is upstairs.”
Frank drew his eyebrows in and narrowed his eyes. “Why would I bring my things to your bedroom?”
When Stefan realized his mistake, he blinked and left his mouth eased open. He was frantic, feeling his throat swell with a familiar sense of panic. “I mean, I have a spare room upstairs. Beside my bedroom.” He let out a dry, awkward laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I mean.” He cleared his throat as he looked away.
“Alright. So, I’ll bring it up there then.”
Stefan nodded. “Sure. I’ll help you.”
Frank gave him another round of his warm, loving smile. “Thank you,” he said with his eyes briefly met his, without undue interest, then moved on. His voice was low and smoky, like a caress and a plea. And he couldn’t even say another ‘You’re welcome’ in answer.
He didn’t know what was so arousing about him. One minute, he’d been thinking totally innocent thoughts, and the next, he’d looked back to find Frank looking at him in a way that had turned him on as though he supposed they had some kind of attraction. He cursed, heading to the kitchen, and took two wine glasses from one of the cabinets with textured glass doors. While pouring the wine, he eyed the man, watching him like a hawk, making mental notes of his every move.
Then, he stepped over the granite counter and offered him one, then lifted his own, inviting him for a toast. “Cheers,” he said in his low and tight voice.
“Cheers,” Frank said.
He leaned over the bar toward him. “So…”
“So?”
Contemplating, he looked at him drink another sip, somehow fascinated by how pleasant Frank’s swift move was. It was slow and careful. After he emptied his glass, he went on to pour another one. “I hope you will like staying here.”
“You have a wonderful place. I don’t know how I could thank you.”
Stefan shook his head, piercing him with an unexpected gaze. “Feel at home,” he said in a lower voice and coming quickly as though he was running out of time. Though he noticed how Frank’s face shifted and his eyes popped, he dared to keep his eyes glued to the man. His mind wandered, thinking of possibilities this man would and could do. Because you could never be sure what you might learn, though watching him taking the bait was totally unexpected.
Frank sure was an unpredictable type of man. Fascinating developments, he mused. Though he was uncertain of how this could go, though the concept of cohabiting with someone never came through his mind, it would come to him eventually. As they’ve always said, silent waters run deep. A metaphor to describe those damn introverts, he supposed.
Standing facing him, his eyes meandered in silence for a minute before he decided to get himself another glass of wine, so he could continue what he was doing as though watching Frank was a nice reel to binge. When he caught him staring at him, he didn’t have qualms quirking his lips at his quick and absolute surprise.
Author’s Note:
Thank you so much for spending time reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did when I wrote this part months ago. This chapter, in particular, reminded me of those times when I sat before my desk, seemingly prepared to type in words, but I struggled to keep it up.
It took an external motivation to get it through, and, at that time, the NaNoWriMo event was upcoming. At that time, I thought, “This could be a great opportunity to try and give this a shot one more time. You’d done an excellent job with ‘The Rival,’ so you could do it, Mecyll.”
You know, it’s easier said than done because writing a chapter with a clear intent to finish it requires more than just a skill. Since I started writing fiction, I realized how much this work demands my ability to be naked and the guarantees to answer whether I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually prepared to face my fears, conscious or unconscious.
So, being able to write this down meant I managed despite the countless times dancing around with depression and enjoying the roller coaster rides my anxiety provided me.
This is why I don’t know how to thank you for your support, regardless of the scale or contribution size, from sharing my work with others or buying my books. It doesn’t matter because, for me, every small act you show is appreciated.
Again, thank you, and have a great day!
If you like to support my writing life, here’s what you can do:
- Get a copy of “The Rival” Uncensored Gay Romance Novel.
- Read “Dr. Clay” (Cult of Eros #1)
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